Transcendence
by Captain Jules
Summary: He was a Deathscythe now. It is as they wanted, so why do they suddenly feel so…hollow? But when a new threat is awakened, Maka Albarn finds a power within herself that has not been seen in centuries. And she is going to need a Deathscythe to use it. SoMa
1. Pain

Greetings to you all, dear readers. I am both exceptionally excited and incredibly nervous about posting my very first fanfiction on the web. I've never attempted to write any sort of fanfiction before, but I sincerely hope that some of you will find my writing enjoyable and the storyline interesting. Do be easy on me, as this is my first story and I do not have a beta reader. I do welcome constructive criticism, of course, but tread softly because you tread on my dreams...

I simply could not fight the urge to write this. My fingers practically itched with it after I really got into Soul Eater, and this idea would not go away.

**Full Summary:** He was a Deathscythe now. It was their dream, their passion, to make him such, so why do they suddenly feel so…hollow? She misses the feel of him in her hands. He misses her gloved touch. But when a new threat is unleashed upon the world, something stirs within Maka that has not been seen in centuries. Even Shinigama-sama did not foresee her transcendence. A single word is going to change the flow of the world, and only Maka Albarn holds the key to salvation. If she is going to save the entirety of humanity, however, she is going to need a Deathscythe. Perhaps Shinigami-sama is not the only one that must wield such a weapon after all?

**Rating:** M for Language, Violence, Crude Humor, Innuendo, Lemons (Yes, it's going to be pretty dirty. XD)

* * *

><p>Advance-Lunge. Cut. Retreat. Parry. Recover. Riposte. Disengage. Glide. Double.<p>

The terms echoed in the woman's mind as her body performed them effortlessly, her footwork precise and breathlessly perfect as she moved against her opponent. Each calculated step forced her rival backwards, the boy's arm growing heavy under her practiced attacks. With a flick of her blade, his clattered to the ground, and he had no choice but to bow to her in conquered respect. The woman before him smiled slightly, inclining her head graciously to her defeated adversary. Even in victory, she was dignified, though her olive-hued eyes gleamed with a fierce triumph. "You are certainly improving, Mr. Kaiko, I shall give you that." She offered with a smile, absently twirling her blade once and then settling it point-down at her side with a sharp cut. "Izumi must be proud of her meister."

With a smile of his own, the boy couldn't help but bask in her praise, bowing again respectfully as he watched his fallen blade transform into a lean brunette. Izumi didn't speak, but she didn't have to. The satisfaction in her eyes was clear enough without words to accompany it. With a wave of her hand, the woman dismissed them both, watching as they fell back in line with the rest of her class. "That's enough combat for today. Practice your stances." The woman announced, and each meister broke away from the rest, allowing themselves plenty of room to move without incident. With a small, satisfied sigh, she turned and deposited her rapier onto the weapon-rack, the length of steel only a cold blade, and nothing more. Her own weapon was currently at Shinigami-sama's disposal, and so she fought with instruments made of soulless metal and hardened leather.

Maka Albarn then turned, her pretty eyes surveying the students under her charge with a sharp, piercing stare. Nothing escaped her notice. Her gaze fell onto a certain pair to her right, the boy still in his human form and his meister wringing her hands nervously. With a sympathetic smile, the woman moved towards them quickly, her swift, sure steps maneuvering her about the other students with practiced ease.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

He never got tired of watching her do that. Soul's eyes followed his meister's figure as she expertly disarmed her opponent with fluid, graceful movements, each of her attacks and steps combining into a effortless, accomplished dance that could be deadly when she so wished. The weapon smirked to himself as she wound between her students, pausing occasionally to offer advice to those under her charge. Her mossy eyes were sharp and quick as they raked over the fledgling meisters, and each apprentice seemed to latch onto every word she said as if it were gospel. The deathscythe had to grin at their ready adoration. She certainly had the hero-worship of the little brats, didn't she? Although, honestly, he wasn't much better.

Maka was nothing special upon first glance. Her hair was a common color, her body lean and trim from constant exercise, and her face still retained a measure of baby-like softness that was undoubtedly charming, but not quite beautiful. Yet, her olive eyes were large and expressive, her hips flared dramatically in relation to her lithe build, and her slender legs were a mile long. She rested comfortably in the 'definitely cute' territory, teetering between pretty and gorgeous, but her commonplace traits ended there. No matter how common her appearance, Maka would never be anything less than extraordinary.

Responsible, mature, tough and resilient, the woman's inner strength belied her girlish figure, her unwavering spirit and impossible drive to succeed pouring together to create an unconquerable resolve. She was a juggernaut of will, a practical force of nature that _nothing_ could stop when she applied herself to a task. Yet, she was also quite considerate and kind, a gentleness in her voice and hands that she reserved for her friends alone. It was fitting of a grigori soul, he mused with a little smirk, though her frequent bouts of violence that usually ended with a book cracking over his head wasn't exactly angelic. Still, despite her frequently boring, bookworm ways, Soul couldn't deny the truth.

She had him wrapped around her pretty little gloved finger.

Most of the students at Shibusen, and hell, even most of the staff, looked upon Maka as a beacon of strength and valor, her skills as a meister both impressive and deadly. She had faced Asura and Arachne without losing her courage, and that was something he doubted even most three star meisters could do. She wielded countless weapons with ridiculous ease, her natural talent and hard-earned expertise resulting in a deadly combination of instinctual movement and practiced efficiency. And while Soul admired her for it, his affection for the girl went far beyond simple respect for her talents. Maka had been his meister for years, and she was the first to accept him just as he was, pointed teeth and aloof attitude notwithstanding. She questioned nothing, but merely took it all in stride, devoting herself to making them both stronger. He owed her…_everything_. It was because of her that he was now a deathscythe. It was because of her anti-demon wavelength that he no longer feared the black blood. It was because of her that he had moved past his family's shadow and had a bright future for himself. She had risked her own life, and her own sanity, time and time again for his sake, and he owed her more than just his life in return.

Why wouldn't he adore her?

But he would never tell her these things. Soul Eater Evans was way too cool for kind of sappy, starry-eyed nonsense, and there was no way in hell he was going to—WHAT was that supposed to be? Relaxed stance forgotten, he leaned over the railing of the balcony he currently stood on, his crimson eyes narrowing and zeroing in on Maka as she paused beside two of her students. One, a boy who looked to be around seventeen, shifted closer to the meister and murmured something that caused a little feminine laugh to bubble from her lips. The albino weapon glared daggers at the kid. There was something about the way the boy stood, the way he looked at Maka that just didn't sit right with the deathscythe. With a smile, the boy stepped back and proceeded to change into weapon form, a quick flash of green light accompanying the movement as his body shifted.

Soul gritted his teeth. The kid was a scythe, though his appearance was drastically different from Soul's own, and the girl behind him caught the weapon with inexperienced hands, fumbling slightly as she did. Maka inclined her head to the young meister, stepping closer to speak softly before the scythe was handed to her eagerly.

Soul was not happy.

With practiced ease, Maka swung the weapon behind and around her lithe frame, her experienced hands sure and steady as she moved through a few of the more remedial stances that would help the girl's obvious lack of control. The scythe was handled expertly, and with a final, effortless flourish, presented once more to his meister. Wide-eyed, the girl retrieved her weapon from Maka, nodding vigorously and quickly attempting to repeat the steps demonstrated to her. She was hesitant and her form was sloppy, but a few encouraging words from the older, blonde meister appeared to lift her spirits, and she continued to practice as Maka moved on to the next pair with a little smile.

Soul was not smiling.

He never enjoyed watching Maka wield other weapons, even though it was in her job description as combat class instructor, but somehow, seeing her handle another scythe was…maddening. She was _his_ meister, after all; didn't that give him the right to be a little selfish?

Except they rarely went on missions together these days. Lately, she was his meister in name only. The thought depressed Soul somewhat. With his new position as a deathscythe, not much had changed at first. He was still partnered with Maka, and they had grown even stronger together in Spartoi, discovering new abilities and conditioning their old ones to become even more potent. Yet, that was two years ago, and now, as they both stood on the cusp of adulthood at nineteen, everything had become different. A numerous amount of new responsibilities were introduced to the white-haired man, and he was sent on missions with other, three star meisters at Shinigami-sama's command. Maka was exceptionally powerful in her own right, of course, but she still had a few ranks to climb before she herself could claim that title. Yet, despite being wielded by other, more experienced warriors as a deathscythe, he never felt any sort of connection with them. He might have been forced to accept them as technicians, but _she_ was the only one he would ever consider to be his _meister_.

With a disgruntled snort, the weapon pushed away from the railing, eyeing his watch as he strode through the halls of Shibusen. The day was nearing it's end, and he was more than ready to get his meister away from her students and back at his side where she belonged. Honestly, Soul generally liked the kids in her class, even showing up occasionally to demonstrate Witch Hunter for them, or so Maka could show them what a true, perfectly synced Soul Resonance could do. However, something about what he had witnessed today just…threw him in a way he couldn't explain. He didn't like it, and he certainly didn't like the way that boy had looked at Maka when she laughed.

But he wasn't jealous, of course. Cool guy didn't get jealous, and since Soul was definitely the epitome of cool, he didn't have the capacity for such an emotion. Yet, as he rounded the corner of the courtyard and found Maka engrossed in a conversation with the same boy, he abruptly decided that being jealous was, in fact, extremely cool, because he was definitely still cool, and he was also quite definitely jealous.

However, since he had a reputation to maintain, Soul resisted the urge to stomp up and break the kid's jaw, instead opting to approach nonchalantly and eye the other weapon with an insulting amount of indifference. "Ready to go, Maka?" He asked, bored tone at odds with the sharpness in his crimson eyes.

The meister turned slightly at the sound of his voice, a smile on her lips as she greeted him. "Hey Soul." She replied, and he was slightly gratified by how her words seemed to turn up an octave on his name, as if just seeing him made her happier. It was a nice thought, anyway. Yet, his nicer thoughts went out the window as she focused her attention back on the student, nodding to him encouragingly. "We'll work on that more tomorrow, Conner." Maka assured the scythe, flashing him a quick smile. "And don't worry about Kaida. She just needs to build confidence in herself before she can wield you properly. Just give her some time." She then began to step away, but much to Soul's irritation, the brat spoke again.

"Miss Albarn?" He asked quickly, his earnest green eyes pleading for her to wait and hear him out. There was something he needed to say, and he needed her to listen. With a perplexed expression, Maka paused at Soul's side, nodding for him to continue. Conner seemed to take a moment to gather his courage, and then his words suddenly came out in a rush. "It's just that…well…Kaida is a great lass, to be sure, but she isn't exactly up to weildin' me, at least not properly. She's got potential, but I dunna think she can handle me."

Soul inwardly groaned. Great, anther upstart with a god complex. Wasn't Black Star enough? His bloody eyes slid discreetly to the side, watching the blonde purse her lips thoughtfully before replying. "Are you requesting another meister?" She asked pointedly, resting one hand on her hip as she stared at the scythe in a piercing manner. He could tell she didn't like the thought of him dumping Kaida when she was trying her best.

Conner was silent for a moment. "I'm askin' if you'd want to be me meister." He ended on a soft note, his hopeful expression begging her to say yes.

That did it. Soul was beyond pissed. He _knew_ there was something he didn't like about this little prick, and for the first time in a long time, the weapon was dangerously close to losing his cool. "Are you blind, kid? Or are you just stupid?" The deathscythe snapped, his crimson eyes flashing dangerously as Conner's gaze slowly swung to meet his. "_I'm_ her weapon. What the hell does she need with _you_?" That Irish bastard was asking for it.

With a weary sigh, Maka pulled a book out of nowhere and delivered a painful blow to her weapon's head, watching with a small amount of satisfaction as he staggered backward and fell to the ground unceremoniously. "Maka-chop." She deadpanned, seemingly accustomed to and bored of the exercise. With a little huff, she returned her attention to the boy, appearing freakishly composed for someone who had just potentially put their friend in a coma. "I apologize for Soul's behavior, Conner, but he is right. He's my weapon, and I honestly can't imagine being meister to another. Though I appreciate the offer, I must decline." With a little smile, she placed her hand on the scythe's shoulder. "Kaida will be a wonderful technician. Just have patience with her."

For a moment, Conner dropped his head and stared at the ground, the muscles in his jaw working. The blonde waited patiently, her hand still resting upon his shoulder in a comforting grip. Finally, the boy spoke again, but his eyes remained downcast. "If you dun mind me sayin', Miss Albarn, I disagree."

The meister froze at his words, her hand quickly snapping off his shoulder to hang stiffly at her side. "Disagree with what?" She asked sharply, a new glint in her eyes. As she did, Soul finally managed to stagger back to his feet, groaning softly and rubbing the top of his head. Son of a BITCH that hurt. Glaring at the back of the woman's head, he crossed his arms and scowled, even more irritated at the little bastard than before. If it wasn't for him, the deathscythe wouldn't have gotten slammed over the head with a book three times the size of the damned uniform commercial code. Still, the albino was slightly curious about the course of the conversation, his ears figuratively pricking as the stupid Irish ass replied.

"I dunna think Soul is fit to be called your weapon anymore, Miss Albarn." He replied softly. The boy almost seemed apologetic as he did, raising his rather stunning green eyes to her own hard, olive stare, gently begging her to understand. "He's never here for you to wield, and you haven't been on a mission with him for months. If you pardon me boldness, Miss Albarn, I think you'll agree he canna protect you properly as a weapon ought. Not like that."

Soul bristled at the words, and his fingers flexed instinctively, every muscle in his body coiling tightly in anger. He was ready to knock the scythe flat on his ass for talking to Maka like that, but the weapon knew better than to speak again. The last thing he wanted was another damned fracture in his skull. However, a glance at her face made the deathscythe stiffen, her silence nearly as frightening as the shocked expression on her features. He could only stare at her as she drew in a soft breath, watching her hands slowly curl into fists. Why was she acting like this?

The truth suddenly hit the weapon harder than one of her Maka-Chops. It _hurt _her, because it was _true_. She was in pain. He couldn't help but swallow nervously, half-afraid she was going to take the boy up on his offer. Soul gazed at her, waiting for her reply with anxious eyes. He tried to keep his posture as aloof and indifferent as ever, but he could feel the tenseness in his shoulders, the way his muscles jerked reflexively with the stress. His calm demeanor had worn thin by the time she finally spoke again.

A small, pained smile crossed the woman's lips as she replied. "I'm sorry, Conner. Soul might not belong only to me anymore, but he's still the only weapon I want to wield." Inclining her head, the meister turned, walking away with a quiet dignity that silenced both of the men she left behind.

Wow. Even Maka could be cool.

Despite her reassuring words, however, Soul felt like the scar on his chest had just burst open. He couldn't forget the raw expression on her features, or how strained her voice sounded as she spoke. Something Conner had said touched a nerve within her, and the deathscythe couldn't deny that it had touched one within him as well. Without a second thought, Soul took off after his meister, not caring how uncool he probably looked running after her. "Maka!"

At his call, the woman paused, though she did not turn around. Slowing as he reached her, Soul stepped in front of her, his red eyes dropping to her hands. They trembled gently, and the weapon knew that he wasn't imagining the small sparkles of tears on her lashes. "You're shaking." He said simply, his jumbled thoughts making speech difficult.

"Am I?" She asked, her tone distracted as she pressed her palms together tightly to stop the involuntary movement. "Probably just tired." She added half-heartedly, trying to brush it off as nothing important. Soul was not convinced, but he let it slide, deciding it would be best to talk about it at home.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

The ride was an uncomfortable one. The weapon was used to his meister wrapping her arms around his waist without hesitation, her cheek pressed against his back as she sat behind him. But not today. He missed the comforting and familiar touch as he guided them home, the noise of the motorcycle doing nothing to distract him from his grim thoughts. There was an uneasy air about them, emphasized by Maka's apparent reluctance to touch him, leaning away from his back and barely wrapping her slender fingers in his jacket.

She still didn't speak when they reached their apartment, appearing lost in her thoughts as she headed straight for her room without a word to him. Soul could only stand in the hallway, staring at her closed door, half worried and half pissed. He definitely didn't like what was happening here. The woman finally emerged a few moments later in shorts and a tank top, her olive eyes distant as she headed towards the kitchen. Didn't she see him standing there? "Maka?" Soul asked, scowling when she flinched at the sound. He certainly wasn't used to seeing her like this, and it unsettled him.

"Yes, Soul?" She asked, still seemingly distracted. The weapon, finally, lost his patience. He let out a strange sort of strangled growl, and the meister raised her brows as she turned to face him fully. "Something wrong?"

Gritting his teeth, the deathscythe attempted to keep calm, telling himself that yelling would only cause her to clam up even more. That was the last thing he wanted. "Don't pull that shit, Maka. You know there is." He hissed, unable to keep all of his frustration out of his voice. "Something that bastard said really got to you. What was it?" He knew, of course, but if he couldn't convince her to admit it, they wouldn't get anywhere.

Maka stared back at him, her olive gaze so heavy and level the weapon found himself unsettled by the weight of it, the sensation enough to make him want to fidget. He didn't of course, since he was too cool to act like that, but he definitely had to work to quell the instinct. At last, she sighed. "Nothing is wrong, Soul." She said evenly, leaning against the back of the couch as if suddenly too tired to stand on her own. "It's just I hadn't really thought about you no longer belonging only to me as my weapon. I guess it just hit me a little hard, is all." His meister shrugged, attempting indifference but failing when her shoulders shook. She had to look away. "I'll be fine. I always am, aren't I?"

Her voice betrayed her. She wasn't fine.

The weapon felt his anger drain completely, replaced with a soft concern for his meister. "That's not true, Maka." He insisted, stepping closer to her. Something about this whole situation was throwing him off. Majorly. Soul simply couldn't keep his cool, and his voice dropped to a soft murmur, his words too quiet, too pleading. "I'll always be your weapon. I'll always belong to you." He said, a hand drifting to her shoulder and squeezing gently to emphasize his words. She sighed again.

"That's not true." She echoed, though she smiled gently as she did. Maka patted his hand before shrugging out from under his touch, her olive eyes a little too dull for his liking. "I know you mean it, Soul, you really do. But it's just not going to work like that anymore. You're a deathscythe now, and whatever my feelings might be, Shinigami-sama can call you away from me whenever he wishes. It doesn't matter if I like it or not." Here she fell silent, and the weapon felt frozen, unable to speak or think properly as the blonde slowly lifted her hand and placed her palm flat against the scar over his heart. She met his gaze. "I'll always consider you my weapon, Soul, and I'll not be meister to another. But I have to face it. You aren't just mine anymore." Her hand dropped, and Maka turned, heading into the kitchen to make dinner.

Soul couldn't move. He could only stare after her as he stood there, rooted to the spot and hearing her words echo through his mind over and over again. Today just wasn't a cool day.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

Dinner wasn't cool either. They both sat in brooding silence as they ate, neither of them really paying any attention to their food as they stared off and avoided looking at each other. It was uncomfortable as fuck, and Soul found himself growing irritated with the situation. He glared at the table in a huff as Maka began clearing their dishes, suddenly finding himself wishing he had never become a damned deathscythe to begin with. This shit wasn't worth it. The clatter of plastic pulled the weapon from his depressing thoughts, and his crimson eyes immediately found his meister kneeling to retrieve the plates she had dropped. As she did, the woman hissed, putting a hand to the small of her back with a sour expression. "Back hurt?" Soul asked, eager to latch onto any topic that would get her talking again. Maka nodded.

"I think I pulled a muscle." She grimaced, setting their dirty dishes in the sink and rubbing the tender spot on her back. Pursing her lips, she turned to her weapon with a wry expression. "I must be getting old." The blonde said, her tone self-depreciating.

With a chuckle, the albino stood and smirked in reply, somewhat relieved to hear a bit of her usual confidence return to her voice. "Must be." He agreed, quirking a brow as she stuck her tongue out at him and turned around, grabbing the dishwashing soap. That was more like the Maka he knew. He frowned, however, as he watched her, her eyes squinting slightly in discomfort every time she moved her back. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" The man asked, red eyes quickly narrowing as he approached her.

"Washing dishes, what does it look like?" She replied dryly, blinking up at him with a small amount of irritation.

Soul forced down a sigh. Well, at least they had returned to some semblance of normalcy. "I mean, why are you working when you are hurt?" The weapon stressed, speaking slowly as if she couldn't comprehend his words. Maka, predictably, bristled.

"It's my turn on kitchen duty." She replied stiffly, and he could tell she was starting to get pissed off. Good. As she reached for the sponge, the deathscythe clicked his tongue reprovingly.

"Don't care." He stated coolly, grabbing his meister's hand and turning her so quickly she dropped the sponge in surprise. Soul ignored her confusion and angry sputters, practically dragging her into the living room and plopping her down soundly on the couch. He could tell that she was fuming, but right now, he would definitely take her anger over the quiet somberness she had exhibited all afternoon. Dropping beside her, the weapon grabbed her shoulders and gently turned her away from him, rather surprised that he still hadn't received a Maka-Chop for his actions.

With a little sigh of irritation, the blonde cocked her head and looked at him over her shoulder. "What are you doing?" She asked flatly, pretty eyes trained on his. Her weapon scowled.

"Trying to help. Would you just chill?" He asked, glaring at her until his meister finally turned around with a little huff, acquiescing but clearly miffed about it. He couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes once and grumbling. Holy shit, did she have be high-strung about _everything_? Yet, Soul pressed his palms against her back gently, talented fingers working over the woman's muscles and drawing a hiss from her. Maka arched, leaning forward to brace her hands against the couch as Soul worked the knots in her back loose, sighing in contentment one moment then groaning in pain the next when he moved to a new spot. The weapon grinned slightly to himself, a pointed tooth showing as he watched his meister go from a spitting cat to a purring kitten under his practiced hands. His fingers, just as adept at playing her as any piano, slowly smoothed the coiled muscles with his touch, and Soul had to admit he was surprised she hadn't expressed any more pain than she did. Her back was a wreck.

"You know, you don't have to—Ah!—do this." She managed around hissing and sighing, again glancing at him over her shoulder.

Soul frowned. "I'm your weapon, aren't I? That means I take care of you. Now shut up and let me." He demanded, snorting softly to himself as she shook her head and gently returned her gaze to the couch in front of her, fingers twitching whenever he hit a particularly painful, or pleasing, spot. The deathscythe returned his attention to her back, hoping she didn't see the faint tinge of red in his cheeks. Those gorgeous olive eyes of hers had managed to look unbearably sexy as she looked him, slightly foggy from relief and half-lidded with pleasure. He was probably going to spend a little too much time in the shower tonight.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

Maka sighed, this time in pleasure, as she slowly felt the pain in her back ease. Her weapon's calloused, adept fingers danced over her stressed muscles, and he knew just much pressure to use to soothe the knots away. The woman knew there was no arguing with Soul when he got like this, when he went into what she generally called 'loyal weapon mode.' He insisted upon catering to her every need and desire, growing irritated with her when she wouldn't allow him to dote upon her. Finally, Maka had just accepted his attentions, finding it was easier to let him do as he pleased rather than argue over it. Aside from that, a part of her secretly enjoyed receiving so much dutiful consideration from him, though she kept that to herself.

Finally, the woman felt her back just _melt_, Soul's long fingers banishing the stress and fatigue that had coiled her body tighter than a spring ready to snap. He was definitely a musician, she reflected with a pleasant shiver, hyper-aware of how practiced and sure his hands were as they played her skin. Maka rewarded her weapon's efforts with a hum of pure bliss, leaning back into his touch as he pressed his palms against her shoulder blades, moving slowly but strongly. "Mmm, that's much better." She mumbled, suddenly finding herself flushing slightly as he chuckled deeply behind her.

"Good." He replied, rubbing down her back one last time before standing. "Go take a shower and relax. I got the dishes."

She turned her head just enough to watch her weapon stand and make his way towards the kitchen, striding off in his usual, nonchalant manner. Maka quirked a brow as he stood at the sink, grabbing the sponge and attacking their dirty dishes with that, easy, unaffected air that was all Soul. She had to smile. Standing, the meister headed to the bathroom and tossed her discarded clothes onto the counter, unable to keep her mind off the white-haired man as the hot water hit her skin. Just an hour ago, she was wallowing in pity for herself, trying to come to grips with the fact that her weapon was no longer solely hers. The blonde hated sharing him with other meisters, and she even hated sharing him with Shinigami-sama. Yet, her dark mood had lifted, her back tingling pleasantly with the ghostly memory of fingers playing gently down her spine. Maka shivered. Somehow, it no longer mattered how many technicians wielded him, or even that he left her alone for days at a time when he went on missions without her. Soul had banished her fears with his tender hands. How many people did he treat that gently?

Just her.

With renewed vigor, the woman attacked her hair with shampoo, her somber thoughts gone. It didn't matter that she had to share Soul with other technicians. _She_ would always be his meister, and he would always belong to her alone.

* * *

><p>I hope you enjoyed it, lovely readers. Please do review and let me know if you would like to read more. As I said, I am extremely nervous about this, but I honestly hope some of you will like it enough to want more chapters. There will be much more happening next chapter as well—I had to set the stage for their interaction in this one. :)<p>

Fair winds and fair skies,

~Captain Jules~


	2. Awakening

Hello again, beloved readers! First of all, I would like to thank everyone who reviewed chapter one. I received so many positive and uplifting reviews, it literally made my week. I honestly wasn't expecting such a warm reception, and each new review made me nearly giddy. I was seriously pumped and ready to write more after receiving such kind words. So, here is chapter two, lovely readers. I truly hope you enjoy it!

And to answer a reviewer, no I do not mind anonymous reviews in the least. ANY review makes me very happy!

This chapter contains some more exposition like chapter one, since there were a few more aspects of Maka's and Soul's lives that I needed to clear up. Since they are nineteen now, there is a pretty good time-lapse that I need to fill in, and I tried to get my vision of their new lives pictured clearly without spending too much time on a history lesson. XD

**Disclaimer:** I forgot this in chapter one. I do not own Soul Eater.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

While a lesser man probably would have popped a blood vessel by now, Soul Eater Evans was, as usual, keeping his cool. Although, 'keeping his cool' could more accurately be described as 'appearing totally collected while he inwardly wanted to punch the cutest fucking fuzzy creature he could find.'

Soul bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to calm his racing pulse as his meister moaned again, arching under his fingers and pressing her back harder against his practiced touch. It had been another long, arduous day for the both of them at Shibusen, the deathscythe busy with mission paperwork while Maka had her hands full with her classes as usual. However, he was pleased to find that his technician seemed to have forgotten her melancholy mood from yesterday, her sure, confident fire returning to her olive gaze. Her arms had wrapped about his waist in an easy, familiar way on the ride home, and the cheek she pressed against his back sent a pleased hum through his veins. Yet, she had again complained of an intense pain in her back as they settled down after eating, her face twisting as she gingerly sat on the edge of the couch. Soul only grinned slightly as he teased her of growing old, ignoring her irritated scowl as he turned her away from him to begin a repeat performance of the day before.

Usually, this wouldn't have been a problem in the least. The weapon was hardly averse to doing things for his meister. In fact, he generally (though privately) loved to please her in nearly any way, appearing cool and collected while secretly smug in knowing just what she liked. He knew _allllll_ the things that made her tick, becoming intimately aware of her deepest desires the countless times they had performed Soul Resonance over the years.

Today, however, was proving to be a problem indeed. She was being too damn vocal for her own good, her sighs and little moans of bliss enough to tax even Soul's cool. Holy shit, had she always sounded like this? Had he just never noticed? The weapon managed to hold in a frustrated groan as he continued to ease his meister's pain, silently cursing her every time an infuriatingly sexy sound tumbled from her lips. He wasn't used to reacting to her like this…had something changed? Abruptly, the scythe realized that, yes, something _had_ changed, but it wasn't her. It was _him_. Yesterday had been a turning point for the man, and the sudden knowledge caused his hands to falter for only a moment before they resumed their skilled dance on Maka's back. The intensity of his emotions had finally pushed the awareness upon him. Soul had always been fond of his technician, of course, and he was loyal to her beyond anyone, including Shinigami-sama himself. Hell, he even knew he loved her, if he was honest with himself, but the deathscythe had always assumed it to be platonic affection.

Had he been lying to himself?

Seeing her with another scythe, and especially witnessing another man looking at his meister like…_that_, had awoken a jealousy within Soul that tore through his veins like wildfire. He didn't like other men looking at her with that hooded desire. He didn't like them whispering in her ear. And he sure as fuck didn't like other weapons trying to take her away from him. The albino felt a strange sort of possessiveness come to life within him, and though he had felt a faint hum of the emotion for years, it abruptly blazed into a white-hot inferno, drowning out everything else with it's ever-intensifying song. He wanted to keep her all to himself, and himself alone. But what did that mean, exactly? Were they still just friends? Merely weapon and meister? It was getting hard to tell…

A sharp intake of breath drew Soul's attention from his heated thoughts, and he glanced at the woman in sympathy as he watched her fists clench in discomfort. He could feel the knot under his hands, her muscle tight and quivering with stress and pain. The weapon furrowed his brow as he stared at Maka's back, curious as to why she was suddenly so stiff and sore. He was beginning to get worried. His meister was in top physical condition, her muscles toned from constant exercise, and she was quite young. It just wasn't adding up. Yet, the proof was under his gentle hands, her muscles contorting with agony. "Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself?" The deathscythe asked, his gaze briefly flicking to her hands as she dug her nails into the couch.

"Not sure. Don't think so." She managed to grit out, drawing a breath to steady herself. He could see her jaw clenched tightly, undoubtedly holding in a hiss or cry of discomfort, and Soul frowned again. Whatever was causing it, he knew this level of pain was not normal, especially for someone like his meister. Maka had a very high tolerance for pain, a trait she had received from years of battle scars and too many wounds to mention. For her to react like this…it had to hurt like a bitch.

The albino shook his head as he finally felt her relax under his hands. "Maybe you should go to the doctor." He offered, careful to keep his expression slightly indifferent and nonchalant as she cocked her head just enough to meet his gaze. The blonde's expression was nearly as unreadable, though her eyes were sharp and severe, the pain she felt clearly displayed in her olive depths. The sight made the deathscythe inwardly wince in empathy.

The woman shook her head. "No…I'll be fine." She said forcefully, just as Soul knew she would. The weapon huffed and continued to knead her back, scowling as he did. He drew more hisses and groans from the technician, and the albino vowed that if she kept this shit up, her ass was going to the doctor whether she liked it or not. He would probably get Maka-Chopped ten fucking times, but he would drag her there kicking and screaming if he had to. His sanity seriously depended on it.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

Body bent with his head hanging over the bathtub, Soul muttered darkly to himself as he scrubbed his still-dripping hair roughly with a towel, not quite over his irritation. Grumbling softly about stubborn-ass, pig-headed women, the weapon snorted. Why the hell did Maka always have to do things the hard way? A couple of trips to the doctor and a good prescription would likely ease her pain, but she just _had_ to be the fucking 'tough as nails meister' who wouldn't chill the hell out and get some damned _help_. Of course, she didn't mind accepting _his_ help, sighing and moaning under his careful ministrations, and nearly driving him bat-shit insane in the process. Just how in the **hell** was he supposed to keep his cool when she was acting like _that_?

And to think he had accused her of having no sex appeal.

Their relationship had always been an innocent one, yes, but lately, that seemed harder and harder to adhere to. He was a man now, after all, and it was getting tougher to ignore how fond he had grown of his meister over the years. Not that he would try to take advantage of her, of course. He valued her trust far too much for that, and he _was_ a damned gentleman, after all. He wouldn't push those lines without her consent. Still, it wasn't fucking easy. It was impossible to prevent his visceral reactions to her at times, though by some miracle he had managed to keep her from noticing so far. But this 'rub my back so I can gasp and shiver and sexually frustrate the shit out of you' crap had to stop.

Without warning, a scream tore through the house, ripping the deathscythe from his thoughts and sending him hurtling down their hallway in nothing but his pajama pants. Irritation forgotten, the emotion was instead replaced by an icy fear, the weapon terrified as he realized it was _Maka's_ voice that echoed through the house. Soul was petrified; his heart pounding furiously as he skidded to a stop before the woman's door. His meister screamed again, a wail filled with fear, confusion, and above all, agony. The albino grabbed the doorknob, but it was locked, and without even thinking, he transformed his arm into a blade and sliced down, the hunk of brass dropping to the floor with a sound thud. He shoved the door open, his panicked gaze immediately seeking out the blonde. He froze at what he found.

Maka kneeled on the floor by her closet, her body arched over and her arms wrapped tightly about herself, her fingers squeezing her shoulders so hard her knuckles had turned white. She was naked, doubtlessly caught preparing for bed, and his crimson eyes were immediately drawn to her back. His gaze widened.

What in Shinigami's name?

Her back was practically _crawling_, her muscles quivering and jerking so forcefully he could literally see the movement under her pale skin. It was almost as if tiny snakes glided under her flesh, the slithering motions focused mainly around her shoulder blades. His meister cried out again, choking back a sob as she did. It broke the man from his shocked stillness. "MAKA!" He cried, his heart twisting as she turned her face just enough to meet his gaze. Her olive eyes were wide and filled with tears, wet rivulets streaking down her face while she held her bottom lip between her teeth. The weapon dropped beside her, his hands hovering just above her skin in uncertainty. Could he touch her? Would he hurt her more?

"Soul!" She gasped, fingers tightening to the point that her nails began to cut into her skin. "I…I don't…please…CALL SHINIGAMI!" The woman broke off, unable to speak as another spasm shook her back, her skin puckering in a twisted knot around her shoulder blades. The blonde moaned again, and the deathscythe rose in a flash, skidding to her mirror and scrawling numbers across the cold, glassy surface faster than he ever had. He seemed to wait an eternity before the skull-like face appeared before him.

The death god barely had a chance to raise his hand in greeting before a very frenzied weapon was right in his face, screaming frantically. "There's something wrong with Maka!" The albino cried, pointing to her quivering form and grabbing the side of the mirror with his free hand. "You have to fucking help her!" In some sort of vague, strange way, one part of Soul's mind realized that he wasn't acting very cool right now, but seeing his meister in such agony had ripped away his carefully-maintained exterior. The god's hollow eyes widened.

"Wait there." Shinigami-sama commanded, his voice unusually sharp and quite serious as he disappeared from sight. Soul gritted his teeth as his meister screamed again, and the man whirled, dropping back at her side. He felt so fucking _useless_ right now. There was a primal part of him that wanted nothing more than to go deathscythe and rip the shit out of whatever was hurting his technician, but he couldn't. The source of her pain was beyond his reach, and the albino fisted his hand, punching the floor in frustration. He was supposed to _protect_ her, dammit, not just sit beside her and watch her suffer like this.

"Maka…what can I do?" He asked softly, hands practically itching to touch her. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but the weapon didn't know if he would only make the pain worse.

The blonde could only shake her head, however, her body arching and bowing so low her forehead pressed against the carpet. Abruptly, Soul felt a strange apprehension in the air, an icy sensation crawling across his shoulders and his muscles tensing in an ageless instinct, his battle-sense so honed it was constantly alert even when he appeared to be distracted or resting. He stiffened and immediately straightened, his crimson eyes focusing on Maka's far wall. It seemed to almost shiver for a moment, until the surface itself began rippling like water. An arm reached through, and the deathscythe was on his feet in an instant, a blade appearing from his body. Maybe he couldn't stop his meister's pain, but he sure as hell could protect her from whatever the fuck was coming through the wall.

"Calm down, Soul-kun." A familiar voice echoed, and the weapon flicked his eyes to the side to find the skull-faced god staring at him from the mirror once more. "She's here to help."

Frowning, the weapon eased his stance slightly as a woman stepped from the rippling wall with ease, immediately striding forward and her eyes zeroing in on the fallen blonde. The wall behind her solidified, then, the ripples smoothing away as if nothing had ever been amiss. "K-Kim?" Soul asked, dropping his defensive stance as the witch approached. She nodded once as she moved closer, and then brushed past him to kneel beside his fallen meister, her expression turning grave as she stared at Maka's quivering form.

"How long has she been like this?" Kim asked softly, gently placing her fingers against the blonde's puckering skin.

"About ten minutes." Soul replied, managing to keep his voice reasonably level even while his hands fisted with rage and sorrow, unable to look away as he watched her body jerk constantly in intense agony.

Kim nodded. "I see." Without another word, the witch placed her palms flat against the meister's shoulder blades, a soft glow emanating from her touch. Maka gave a muffled shriek at the contact, valiantly trying to hold in her cries of pain as her grip tightened enough that her nails dug into her shoulders, the force so intense small pricks of blood appeared on her pale skin. Soul, immediately and irrationally, wanted to rip Kim's head off for causing his technician even more pain, though somewhere beyond the fury he realized it had to be necessary. The moment was tense for the deathscythe as he watched Kim steadily trace her fingers down the blonde's back, following the crawling ridges under Maka's skin. At first, nothing seemed to change, but slowly, excruciatingly so, the disturbing movement began to ease, and finally, vanished altogether. The meister slumped forward in relief, a small sigh escaping her as her body went limp and she wilted against the carpet. Soul immediately stepped forward and gathered her to him, cradling her slender form against his chest. He didn't even notice the mirror fade out as Shinigami-sama disappeared; all he could think about was how fucking scared he had been.

The witch straightened from her kneeling position. "She passed out." Kim said quietly, shaking her head and causing her short pink locks to sway gently. "I can understand why. Her body was under immense strain." A pause. "She needs to rest."

The weapon nodded and carried his meister to her bed, doing his best to keep from seeing too much as he arranged her carefully and pulled the covers over her pale form. He then filed out alongside Kim, pulling the door shut behind him as best he could without a doorknob. Soul took a steadying breath and turned to find the witch staring at him, her green eyes never leaving his face as something dark and heavy danced within her gaze.

He stared right back. "Well?" He demanded, careful to keep his voice soft so Maka could sleep. The woman motioned for him to follow and stepped into the kitchen before speaking.

"It's her soul…it's changing. Or rather, not just changing, it's transcending." The witch explained quietly, her voice low as she turned to regard the man behind her.

Her words caused the weapon's heart to lurch oddly in his chest, his brows furrowing further in confusion and concern. Her soul was…changing? _Transcending_? The fuck? "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Soul ground out quietly, impatient and anxious to know exactly what was wrong with his meister.

Kim shot him a look that was half irritated and half sympathetic. "Soul. You must remain calm, for both your sake, and for Maka's. She's going to need your help." She said gently, and the weapon let out an aggravated sigh, knowing that he shouldn't be taking his frustration out on the witch. She was, after all, the one who had eased his technician's pain, and being short with her wasn't going to change anything. He gave her a quick, jerking nod, and Kim smiled slightly before continuing. "I know it's difficult when you are worried for your meister, but trust me when I say Maka is far from injured. The pain she is experiencing will end soon, and her transcendence will be complete."

"Transcendence into what, exactly?" The deathscythe asked, his nerves eased slightly from her assurances. As long as Maka wasn't hurt, he could be cool.

There was a beat of silence before Kim replied, her green eyes sliding towards the ruined door. "It's her grigori soul. It's transcending into a…a _Watcher_." She breathed, the last word escaping her lips in a reverential whisper. There was an odd expression upon the woman's face, reflecting a surprised, shocked awe as she shook her head. "I…I really can't believe I'm actually seeing this happen. It's been centuries since the last grigori soul transcended." She returned her attention to Soul's face then, a little smile playing across her lips. "Your meister is special, deathscythe. Though only one in fifty million people posses a grigori soul, only one in a thousand grigori souls have the chance to transcend. And a grigori soul's power is nothing compared to what a Watcher can do. A Watcher's power is amped up a hundred percent higher when their souls transcend, and they experience an increase in their strength that is, quite frankly, nearly frightening."

The scythe was starting to feel lightheaded. This shit…was a little much to take in all at once. "So…what does all this mean for Maka?" He asked, unnerved when Kim smiled enigmatically.

"I'd rather just explain it to you both when she awakes."

Well shit.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

The woman stared at her interlaced fingers as Kim tried to explain what had occurred to her, breathing slowly and steadily to keep her nerves under control. The pain in her back had settled into nothing but a dull throb, yet her head threatened to burst. Maka found the witch's words difficult to believe, though she knew Kim would never lie about something as grave as this, and she certainly wouldn't profess it if she weren't certain about her findings. It was just...a little much, really. She wasn't sure how to feel or respond. In a single day, the blonde's entire world had been turned upside down. Her back had shuddered and convulsed sporadically while she was at Shibusen, but she had merely blamed it on stress, assuming the pain would cease after she had a bit of rest over the weekend. Soul's talented musician's fingers had managed to ease the agony for a while, yes, but...not even two hours later, the pain had returned. Even then, of course, the meister had tried to bear it in her typical fashion-which included locking her jaw so tightly she refused to make any sound while she spitefully ignored her body's furious protests at any movement she made. Maka was determined to keep her weapon from worrying further.

However, as she made her way to her closet, intent on changing into her pajamas, the pain abruptly blossomed into pure agony, and it was too much to ignore. It had ripped across her back in one angry motion, leaving her skin tingling and a molten heat bursting through her muscles. At first, the woman had merely gasped, staggering against the closet door and refusing to allow any tears to fall. She was Maka Albarn, dammit, and she wasn't going to let a little pain get the better of her. However, as her muscles began to convulse and literally twist in upon themselves, she couldn't fight it any longer. It had felt as if a hundred knives were drawn across her back in unison, her very skin burning at the sheer agony of it. She had to scream.

The blonde couldn't remember much after that. Everything was...blurry. She did remember Soul at her side, and she could vaguely recall the feel of Kim's fingers on her back, but that was all. Maka wasn't even certain how long she had shivered on the floor, shuddering as her back quivered with pain that increased every second. She did, however, remember the blissful relief that Kim had afforded her, allowing her the luxury of finally passing out and receiving some much-needed rest. According to her friends, she had been out for around three hours.

"But how do you know it's true? How can you be sure I'm becoming a...a Watcher?" The meister finally asked, raising her olive gaze to face the two seated next to her bed. "And why is it affecting my back?" She added, desperately seeking answers.

Kim shook her head gently. "Honestly, I'm not certain why the pain is centered in your back. I do recognize your changing wavelength, and you practically reek of new power. It is very easy to identify a grigori soul experiencing the transcendence, though each occurrence is unique. Your body experiences such unbearable pain because as your wavelength changes, it must become accustomed to the new power it holds, as must your soul. The power increase is so severe it will literally cause you physical pain, particularly in your larger muscles. I'm guessing the rest of your body will be affected later."

Maka gave a dry smile. "Can't wait." She said flatly, and she was rewarded with a snort from her weapon. She glanced over to find an amused glint in Soul's eyes, a little smirk upon his face that honestly did nothing to hide his concern for her. The discovery made her stomach flutter slightly.

The witch's lips thinned into a small smile. "While it is true the rest of your body still must adjust, I'm told the pain isn't nearly as severe as when the power first manifests like it did today. Somehow, I don't think it will prevail against you, scythemeister." She said, green eyes catching the little exchange between the man and woman before her.

The blonde shrugged lightly. "I'm sure I can handle it, then." Maka tried to smile, but it ended up becoming a slight frown, her olive eyes darkening with an inner struggle. After all, there was a much worse pain to feel, and that was the agony in her very heart and soul whenever she witnessed her partner get hurt. The deathscythe seated next to her seemed to pick up on the sudden change in her mood, and she saw him stiffen from the corner of her eye. The meister could feel him staring at her, but she pushed her thoughts aside and returned her focus to the woman beside him. "What else do I need to know?"

Kim held out her hands a bit helplessly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you much else. All I know is that you should gain the ability to use new techniques, and you will find a substantial increase in the power of your current ones. Really...I can't help you much." At Maka's quick glance of incredulity, the witch's eyes widened and she waved her hands defensively. "Hey, hey, don't give me that look. I'm not exactly an expert on Watchers, but you don't have to freak out. There _is_ someone who can help, and I'm willing to bet Shinigami-sama has already contacted her, too." The pink-haired woman looked a little too pleased with herself as both scythe and meister wore identical shocked expressions. She grinned. "Speaking of which, I should probably be getting back to Shibusen. I'm the ultra-super-busy school nurse now, you know. I don't normally make house calls." With a wink, Kim stood, and Maka took the time to thank her friend profusely for her aid. Just because the last few hours had _weirded her the hell out_ didn't mean the blonde had lost her sense of propriety.

After the witch departed (through the front door this time, at least), Maka stared at the wall silently, trying to sort out how she felt. In the end...she really couldn't decide. How were you _supposed_ to react after finding out you were some freakishly-rare soul type that hadn't been seen in centuries and would possibly develop incredible amounts of power within a few short days? They really hadn't covered that in class back in her academy days.

She could feel Soul's wavelength approaching as he returned from seeing Kim out, her abilities of perception having grown exponentially after years of practice and use. Sighing, the blonde tilted her head just enough to watch her weapon draw near, glad the witch had helped her into her pajamas before leaving. The deathscythe sat in the chair beside her bed heavily, and though he appeared tired and distracted, his presence comforted her in a way she could not explain. At least he was there, right? What would she have done if had been away on a mission? What would have happened then? It was a dark thought.

"I'm glad I was here." The albino said suddenly, unknowingly mimicking her inner concerns and causing Maka to blink at him in shock. Their patterns of thought were strangely similar, it seemed. Her olive gaze searched his face, finding relief, tension, and even a hint of guilt lurking in his gorgeous red eyes. The woman frowned lightly. Why would he feel guilty? Even his soul's wavelength reverberated with a faint hum of apologetic shame, and she could only tilt her head slightly in confusion, though she smiled softly.

"So am I. I'm glad you were with me, Soul." The blonde said gently, startled when he dropped his head and hid his face behind a curtain of unruly white hair. "I don't know what I would have done without you." She offered, hoping to ease whatever burden lay upon his conscience.

To her surprise, however, her words only made him tense further, his shoulders rigid as he slowly lifted his head. The scythe's darkened red eyes bored into her own, and the meister shifted uncomfortably under his near-crazed stare. What was wrong with him? "That's just it, Maka! Don't you get it?" The weapon growled hoarsely, his sharp teeth revealed behind a wicked snarl. "What if I wasn't here because I was on a mission? How long would you have been in pain before someone found you?" He hissed, shaking his head as he fisted one hand and slammed it against the open palm of the other. "That settles it. I'm not going _anywhere_ until this shit is over."

His meister blinked incredulously. "Soul, you can't do that!" She chided, even though she was touched that he cared so much about her. Maka knew that he did, of course, especially after all the years they had been together, but...it was nice hearing it occasionally. "A deathscythe doesn't have the luxury of turning down missions." She said gently, surprising herself when she placed a hand over his. She didn't recall telling her body to do that.

"Fucking. Watch. Me." The weapon ground out, punctuating each word with a growled edge, crimson eyes hard and determined as he stared into her olive depths. "I'm not going to leave you alone during this, Maka. My job is important, sure, but...this is more important. You're more important." The woman felt her eyes widen while her heart made a curious fluttering motion in her chest, the taste in her mouth bittersweet. Soul, himself, seemed to realize what he had said a second afterwards, his red orbs widening for a fraction before they narrowed and his face relaxed into an apathetic expression. Taking her hand, the deathscythe gently replaced her fingers upon the bed. "There is no way I'm going to leave you alone when something this big is going down. It just wouldn't be cool." Standing, the weapon stretched his lean body with a hiss and grunted. "Try to go back to sleep. I'll call Shinigami and see when we can meet with him, so don't worry about anything except getting some rest."

He turned, then, heading for the door while Maka smiled after him. He really was very considerate...despite the generally aloof attitude he tried to maintain for appearances sake. "Thanks. Goodnight Soul." She called softly, and the scythe grunted again.

"Night." He replied, pulling her ruined door closed behind him.

With a sigh, the meister settled back onto her pillow and turned, staring out her window as she tried to calm her racing pulse and jumbled thoughts. Today had been nothing less than an emotional rollercoaster, and Soul honestly wasn't making anything any easier for her.

_My job is important, sure, but...this is more important. You're more important._

Maka bit her lower lip, unable to keep the words from echoing in her mind. Why did they make her flush softly and her heart skip a beat?

_You're more important._

The words echoed again, and the woman let out a small cry of annoyance. For Shinigami's **SAKE**, what was _wrong_ with her? Soul was her best friend! Her partner! Of course he cared about her. There was absolutely nothing to be getting flustered about. At least, that's what she decided to tell herself. Maka sighed again, staring blankly at the manically-grinning moon and trying to calm her poor, frazzled nerves. Between the pain, the revelations, and her weapon's heartbreakingly considerate behavior, the blonde was absolutely drained. She was exhausted, but even then, sleep eluded her. Her mind was a cluttered mess of thoughts, skipping between her confusing emotions about a certain white-haired scythe and her apprehension about all this Watcher business. What did these new powers mean? What would happen to her after her transcendence was complete? And WHY did her heart insist on thumping painfully every time she recalled those three little words?

_You're more important._

The woman wanted to scream. Again. For years, she and Soul had been an excellent team, a duo with a solid partnership that never faltered. After they had finally surpassed the rougher stages in their relationship (such as her frequent bouts of stubbornness and his infuriatingly aloof attitude), they had become a ruthless, well-oiled machine of destruction, and their deadly efficiency was matched by few. Maka had steadily grown more powerful over the years, as had her partner, and they had certainly made a name for themselves despite their youth. Because of their impressive skills, the two had enjoyed several more years as partners before Soul had been asked to handle other missions and she took a teaching job at Shibusen to pass on her now-mastered weapon skills. They weren't just friends…they were _best_ friends. They were soul mates. The blonde knew how much the deathscythe meant to her, and she knew that he cared for her just as deeply. So why was she suddenly so unsure? It was indeed a common thing to say 'absence makes the heart grow fonder', but this was ridiculous. Sure, she missed the albino insanely while he was gone, but that wasn't enough to make her question the entire range of her emotions, was it? Wasn't that normal; to miss your best friend while they were away?

Oh hell, she just wasn't sure anymore, and right now wasn't the time to be thinking about it. Her mind and body were jacked up enough from the pain and the shock of her new powers manifesting, and throwing emotional confusion into the mix wasn't good for her blood pressure, she was sure. With a resigned breath, the meister closed her eyes and willed her thoughts to cease, forcing her body to calm itself so she could rest. She needed to be at the top of her game tomorrow if she was to start controlling these new powers of hers, and she wasn't going to stop until she had them completely mastered.

She was Maka Albarn, after all. _Nothing_ could overcome her.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

The albino sighed in irritation as he made his way down the hall to his room, scrubbing his face with a palm. It was fucking late, he was fucking tired, and he wanted to fucking sleep. He couldn't, though, not until he had spoken with Shinigami-sama about his meister.

_Maka…_

Soul entered his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against the cool wood and shoving his hands into his pockets. If he hadn't been here…the very thought of what would have happened twisted his gut. He didn't even have the luxury of telling himself Blair would have found her, since the cat no longer lived with them these days. The weapon supposed it was probably his fault. The two of them had moved out of their old apartment last year, buying a new condo near the academy with their substantially-increased funds. His missions as a deathscythe paid considerably well, and since Maka was Shibusen's WeaponMaster (a highly prestigious and demanding title), her salary was just as impressive. They were both more than ready to get out of their tiny apartment, and the cat had, surprisingly, decided not to follow them. Soul had a feeling it was largely due to the fact she no longer had the power to affect him as she once had.

The weapon had never been seriously interested in Blair. Sure, she had a curvaceous figure that most men lusted for, and he couldn't stop his physical reactions to her shameless antics, though his nosebleed responses grated his nerves. Her human form might have been enticing, but she wasn't what he wanted in a woman. Hadn't he proved that in the Book of Eibon? The Lust Chapter had stripped them of all pretenses, and had revealed their darkest secrets before all their peers. The things they desired most in the opposite sex was quickly revealed as their bodies transformed into exactly what they wanted from the other gender, the length of the transformation solely dependent upon their sexual drives and hidden wants. Upon transforming, Soul's new, lean body had resembled Maka so much it was almost embarrassing, all the way from his modest chest to his long, killer legs. Obviously, pumpkin-sized breasts didn't factor into his ideal of the perfect woman. Eventually, as he had matured, the deathscythe merely stopped responding to Blair period, ignoring her sensual presence as she tried to get a rise out of him. He was too old and too damned cool to get a nosebleed every time he saw a naked woman now.

That had seemed to throw her off. Blair was clearly unhappy with his apathetic behavior, though Maka seemed pleasantly surprised and even somewhat smug each time her weapon had waved off the cat's seductive advances. The memory made him grin despite his current mood. Clearly, he wasn't the only jealous one in their relationship. So, when the two of them had told the cat they were moving, she had merely yawned and flicked her tail in a bored manner, coolly informing them she didn't feel like packing her stuff. Maka had protested at first, but the deathscythe quickly shut her up, looking forward to actually having his own damned room again.

Chuckling to himself, Soul pushed away from the door and approached his mirror, grimacing when he noted his haggard reflection. Damn, today had really fucked him over. The albino sighed and began to scrawl the numbers every meister and weapon knew by heart across the cool glass, far more in control of himself than he had been the last time he called. Shoving his hands in his pockets, the man adopted the poor posture that had become his signature stance, slouching as he waited.

After a moment, the mirror flickered and blurred, his reflection dissolving into a gentle background of blue skies and moving clouds contrasting sharply against the death god's stark face. "Ah, Soul-kun. I had a feeling you would be calling." Shinigami-sama said easily, his voice bright and chipper as usual. "Kim-chan told me what happened. I trust Maka-chan is doing well?" He asked, hollow eyes seemingly focused intently upon the scythe's face.

"Yea, she's sleeping." The weapon replied, his voice devoid of emotion and his face apathetic as he spoke. He had a feeling the god could see past his façade, though. Soul's intense red eyes darkened slightly as he spoke again, immediately getting to the point so he could get some damned sleep. "Kim said something about a friend of yours helping Maka though this…whatever the fu—"

"Language, Soul-kun."

"…whatever she's going through." The albino amended, slightly irritated at the interruption. It was, after all, past one in the morning, and he had just narrowly avoided having a possible nervous breakdown and an accompanying heart attack as he was forced to just sit there and watch his meister writhe in agony while he could only stand there and do nothing. Couldn't he at least catch a damn break? "When can she start training?" Soul asked.

The death god tilted his head a bit, clapping his oversized hands once. "Why, tomorrow of course! I expect both of you here at…shall we say nine? That should give Maka-chan an ample opportunity to rest up a bit. The poor dear is exhausted, I'm sure." The skull-faced entity hummed a bit to himself afterwards, and then nodded as if he approved. "Yes, that should do nicely. Now get some rest; you'll both need your strength tomorrow!" The god was prepared to say his farewells, then, but the deathscythe quickly cut him off before he could.

"Shinigami-sama, there's something else I need to tell you." Soul said firmly, a hard edge to his words as he mentally steeled himself. He wasn't going to budge on this subject.

The god's hollow eyes seemed to bore into his own. "What would that be, Soul-kun?"

The weapon crossed his arms resolutely. "I'm not going on any missions for a while." He replied, watching the skull-like face before him betray the slight impression of a quirked brow. The albino really didn't care. "I refuse to leave Maka when so much is happening to her. The thought of what could have happened today if I wasn't here pisses me o—"

"**Language**, Soul-kun."

"—_worries_ me. A lot." The deathscythe ground out, quickly losing patience due to his fatigue and raw nerves. To his surprise, however, Shinigami-sama chuckled slightly.

With a wave of his comically-oversized hand, the death god brushed the albino's concerns and irritation aside. "Oh, I hadn't planned on you leaving Maka-chan, Soul-kun, but we can talk about that tomorrow. Have a nice night!" He then disappeared from view, leaving a very confused weapon staring at his own crimson-eyed reflection.

What the fuck was the supposed to mean?

With an exasperated groan, Soul turned from the mirror and shrugged his shirt off, deciding he would worry about it tomorrow. Right now, he was too damn tired to try to make sense of any of the weird-ass shit he had been through today.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

I hope you all enjoyed chapter two. If you would be so kind, please review and let me know what you think. I truly appreciate each and every one of you that reviewed chapter one. Seeing other people enjoy my writing makes me happier than I can express!

Fair winds and fair skies,

~Captain Jules~


	3. Revelation

Hello to you all once more, my dear readers! First, I want to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time it took for me to update. Life has a way of stealing my muse, especially with my hectic job, and I rewrote this chapter ten or eleven times before I was satisfied with the result. I truly hope you can all forgive me for the long wait.

And now, I really want to express my deepest, heartfelt thanks to everyone for their reviews. I felt so uplifted and completely humbled by all of your kind and encouraging words, and this chapter is dedicated to ALL of you. Without you guys, I wouldn't be posting this. I love you all. Seriously.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Soul Eater.

* * *

><p>The guillotine blades flashed harshly with reflected light as weapon and meister approached the Death Room, a brilliant glow streaking across the glistening metal with every step they took beneath the razor-sharp edges. Yet, the two didn't spare even a glance at the imposing blades suspended above them, both thoroughly familiar with the strange path. Maka strode forward purposefully, her olive gaze trained on the door before them and her jaw set in resolute stiffness as she attempted to ignore Soul's intense stare. She could feel his eyes on her figure as they walked, his blood-hued gaze never once straying from her body as those eerily-beautiful orbs travelled over her form again and again. She knew the scythe was deeply concerned for her, and while she found his thoughtfulness very touching, his attentions also awoke a measure of irritation within the woman. Maka was strong and unyielding, and she hated to be seen as weak. Her weapon was clearly still anxious over the vulnerability she displayed yesterday, and she did not like being the source of her partner's worry. "I'm not going to break, Soul." The technician suddenly said flatly, irritated that he felt the need to baby her so much.<p>

The albino stopped just as she did, quirking a brow as he shoved his hands into his pockets and slowly turned to face her with an impassive expression. His soft concern disappeared somewhat as he met her fire with ice, his crimson eyes level and annoyingly aloof as he returned her stare. "Sure of that?" The scythe asked coolly, his bored tone only serving to incense the blonde further. Maka tensed, sorely tempted to crack a book over his skull, but an abrupt change in his expression made her anger falter. The weapon's apathetic mask slipped, his eyes softening as he gazed at her stony face. "You scared the shit outta me yesterday, you know. Can't help worrying a little." Blinking once, his meister quickly felt her irritation vanish with those quiet words, and a warm, pleasant tingle replaced the darker emotion, her anger swiftly undone by his sincerity.

The blonde smiled softly. "I know…I'm sorry." She replied gently, now mature enough to admit her mistakes. Maka was as uncompromising and iron-willed as ever, yes, but growing older had afforded her the grace and wisdom to know when she needed to swallow her pride and acknowledge her faults. Admitting your own shortcomings was truly the only way to grow, and she _had_ grown indeed. The meister's words elicited a quick, fierce grin from her weapon, and Maka grinned in return, knowing she was forgiven. She quickly resumed walking, Soul falling into step beside her and still watching her every move with sharp eyes. This time, however, she was only grateful for his concern, strangely pleased that he only treated _her_ with such affection.

As the two entered the Death Room, the scythemeister bowed to the towering, skull-faced god before her, somewhat surprised to see him in the flesh rather than his reflection in the ornate mirror behind him. "Good morning, Shinigami-sama." Maka greeted politely, respectful as always in his presence. His dark, stark face contrasted sharply with the cheery blue skies and soft white clouds that floated lazily about, but his welcoming demeanor belied his odd appearance more so. Though he had adopted a more gentle appearance than his true form for the sake of Shibusen's students, there was still something distinctly mysterious and bizarre about the strange god's form. As the woman quickly glanced about, she was relieved to find her father absent, sure that his overzealous affection would only complicate matters.

"Yo, Maka-chan! It's good to see you up and about. I trust you are feeling well?" The death god asked kindly, raising his oversized hand in greeting. His hollow eyes then swung from her to her partner. "And you, Soul-kun? In better spirits today are we?"

The technician's olive gaze slipped surreptitiously to the side, watching as the albino merely shrugged and grunted noncommittally in reply. She couldn't help but inwardly sigh with a sort of exasperated amusement. Despite being raised in a rather distinguished home, it was clear Soul lacked any hint of propriety, in the face of the God of Death himself. "I feel quite well, thank you, Shinigami-sama." Maka replied, her voice deferential but also quite distinctly edged with curiosity and a touch of impatience. She had many questions, and was rather anxious to begin.

The shinigami hummed as if her answer had pleased him. "Most excellent." He replied, patting her delicately on the head with one of his mammoth hands. The woman felt one corner of her mouth twitch in amusement. No matter how much they matured, the death god would always treat his former students like children. The blonde glanced over to find Soul smirking at her, barely containing his laughter as the skull-faced entity continued. "Now, I'm certain you have a great deal of questions, Maka-chan, but first, we have another matter to attend to. Would you hear me out?" He seemed to grow abruptly grave then, his hollow eyes appearing sharp as her caught her gaze.

The woman blinked in confusion. "Uh—of course, Shinigami-sama." She replied, and she could sense her weapon tense beside her. Maka, too, felt a certain amount of apprehension, noting how unusually serious the god had become.

The shinigami clapped his hands together, the large room echoing with a resounding crack as the mammoth extremities met. "Very good. Let's get down to business then, shall we?" He asked cheerfully, deceptively light-hearted. Maka felt her expression darken slightly, a small frown marring her soft features as she caught the sharper tone beneath the god's perpetually chipper voice. Most of her colleagues would have overlooked the grave subtext, but the scythemeister was far too perceptive to miss it. "I have a request for you, Maka-chan, or perhaps it is more of a proposition, if you like." The towering entity hummed and hawed a bit, his hollow eyes boring into her and the weapon at her side with frightening sharpness. "Would you consider resigning as a teacher and returning to your duties as a meister? Keeping you tied to the school as our Weapon's Master is a waste of your Watcher abilities, and we could certainly use you for some of our more dangerous missions…after you have completed your training, of course. What do you say?"

Eyes widening, Maka felt as if the shinigami had physically knocked the wind out of her with one of his comically-oversized hands. He wanted her to resign her position, to return to the field of battle? She could hear Soul draw in a sharp breath beside her, and the woman was immediately conflicted, two overwhelming desires warring within her. She wanted to fight with Soul again, in fact she wanted it more than anything, but…he was a deathscythe. On how many missions would she be forced to wield a different weapon when he was otherwise occupied with another of Shinigami-sama's orders? How long would it last before he was taken from her? The thought of fighting without the crimson-eyed scythe practically made her stomach turn, but Maka would _not_ let the death god down. She wouldn't let Shibusen down. Despite the pain that abruptly pierced her heart, the technician once more bowed respectfully to the towering god. "I…I am honored to accept, Shinigami-sama." The blonde replied, aware that some hesitance still lingered in her voice, touched with her inner reluctance to accept.

The death god tilted his head to the side patiently, his voice still surprisingly cheerful as he spoke. "Maka-chan, is there something wrong?" He prodded, no doubt catching the odd note in her voice. She stared back at the shinigami, aware that her weapon's heavy gaze lingered on her sharply as she wavered in replying. Maka could practically _feel _his eerie red eyes tracing over her face, but the blonde couldn't break the death god's stare. Could she ask to only be partnered with Soul? Would that be selfish? She was certain it would. "I was just curious as to which weapons I would be wielding, Shinigami-sama." The meister finally replied, settling on the safer aspect of her internal struggles.

"Shinigami-sama, perhaps we should explain her…particular circumstances before we ask any more of Miss Albarn."

The unfamiliar voice rang through the Death Room, cutting off whatever reply the skull-faced god would have given, and the blonde turned in unison with her weapon to find a tall, lithe woman approaching them. Maka's eyes widened slightly as she studied the advancing stranger's odd appearance. The woman's soft, slender face appeared no older than perhaps thirty, but her hard, unflinching emerald eyes lent her an air of maturity and wisdom that belied her youthful features. Bright, coppery-auburn hair was pulled into a sleek, elegant bun atop her head, only accenting her no-nonsense appearance further. However, it was not her natural features, but rather her attire that afforded the woman her unusual facade. Her willowy figure was draped in a long tabard that slit at her hips and hung past her knees, the flowing cloth a rich blue adorned with gold. Chainmail covered her upper arms and hung about her thighs, while thick boots, leather vambraces, and light spaulders afforded her a very peculiar, but capable, appearance. She was the very picture of a knight of old, right down to the heavy belt around her slim waist that held a long, scabbard-sheathed broadsword.

"Hmm, yes, I think you are quite correct, Locke-san." The death god replied, inclining his head to the woman graciously. "If you would, please."

The strange warrior smiled and bowed to the skull-faced entity with a small flourish of her hand, an easy familiarity to the motion that indicated she had performed it quite often. "Of course, Shinigami-sama." Locke acquiesced, and Maka caught a distinct inflection to her voice, a light trace of a unique lilt that was undoubtedly English. Frowning, the meister studied her face as the warrior turned to face she and her weapon, wondering just _who_ this woman was. "Miss Albarn, Mister Evans." She greeted politely, inclining her head with a formal courtesy that few others bothered to observe. "It is a pleasure to meet the two of you. My name, of course, is Locke, and I will be your instructor for the next few weeks."

_The hell?_ Maka blinked once, staring at the woman with a rather confused expression and wondering why she of all people had been asked to train her. Was this strange warrior a Watcher like her? A quick prod with her Soul Perception revealed otherwise, as Locke did not possess a grigori soul, but there _was_ something odd about her wavelength. An unusual, peculiar note thrummed within her soul, one that Maka had never felt before, and it set the blonde on edge. Just what the hell was she? Propriety not forgotten, the meister quickly bowed in return, fully aware that if Shinigami-sama respected her as much as he appeared to, this 'Locke' was undoubtedly someone she could trust. "Hello, Locke-sama. Thank you for coming." The technician replied, her body abruptly tensing on instinct as she straightened. For a fleeting moment, Maka wondered why her battlesense had kicked in, but she quickly realized her body was reacting not to Locke, but rather to _Soul_. The blonde's own wavelength was so tuned to her weapon's that she had instantly felt the sudden change in his, their familiarity with each other almost embarrassingly intimate. Her curious olive depths cut to the side to find the white-haired scythe gazing at the warrior levelly, though his red eyes were sharp and bitingly severe in contrast to his detached expression. As if feeling her stare, those crimson orbs flicked towards her and caught her gaze with heated intensity before once more focusing upon the auburn-haired warrior.

"So what are you? Meister? Weapon?" The albino asked, and despite the cool, bored tone, Maka could easily catch the overlying bitterness laced over the last word. It was obvious he didn't want his technician wielding another weapon, distaste quite evident in his exotic red eyes as the deathscythe stared at Locke in an almost challenging fashion. Clearly, he was just _daring_ her to try to take his meister from him, and the blonde felt her lips twitch in a small smile. Sometimes his jealousy was just plain annoying, but occasionally, it was a bit gratifying to know that he still wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Serene expression never once slipping, the warrior smiled slightly at the albino, quirking an auburn brow in response. "A meister, Mister Evans, or at least of a sort. Does that meet your approval?" She asked, and it was obvious she found the weapon's tactless manner a bit insulting. Still, her reply seemed to have appeased the deathscythe at least somewhat, Soul relaxing slightly beside his technician though his calculating eyes never left the warrior's face.

Maka was suddenly very tired of half-truths and enigmatic replies. "A meister 'of a sort'? What does that mean…Locke-sama?" She asked, voice a bit sharper than she had intended. The blonde's confusion and uncertainty was quickly eating away at her composure, and though she kept a tight rein on her emotions, the scythemeister could only take so much before she needed some damned answers. All they had achieved so far was creating _more_ questions rather than answering any, and that was becoming tiring.

A sympathetic look flickered across the green-eyed warrior's face, and she smiled gently. "I apologize, Miss Albarn. I realize this must be difficult for you, so I will attempt to be brief." Locke's expression quickly sobered, and she clasped her gloved hands as she began her explanation. "Though I am no Watcher, as you are, I have a great deal of experience in training others to wield extraordinary amounts of wavelength power, and that level of control is exactly what you must master in order to manipulate the new abilities you will gain as your soul transcends. I will teach you, and your weapon, how to deal with the massive increase in power you will soon face, and from that, you will discover your new limits with time. As soon as you and Mister Evans are ready, we can begin." Those steely emerald eyes were focused on her own olive gaze, the unnerving stare never once wavering as she watched Maka.

The blonde's stomach gave a curious flutter at Locke's words, and again the technician had to forcibly suppress and control the flood of emotion that overcame her when she faced the thought of losing her partner. "Are you certain we can monopolize so much of Soul's time?" She asked, voice surprisingly level and steady despite the twisting in her gut. "He's a deathscythe, so he might not have time between missions." Saying those words aloud, admitting that Soul might not have time for her, hurt much more than she expected, but the woman refused to break. Maka was too strong for that.

"The hell I won't." The weapon interjected, a hot glare shot towards her. His technician pretended not to notice.

The strange warrior seemed oddly amused by their interaction, smiling despite the palpable tension that wavered between them. "I know he's a deathscythe, Miss Albarn." Locke replied, smile widening infinitesimally. "If he wasn't, he would no longer be able to Resonate with you."

Weapon and meister froze at her words, the force of that single statement rocking both of their worlds as her declaration slowly sank in and attempted to register correctly. Maka suddenly felt oddly lightheaded, attempting to fully comprehend exactly what Locke was trying to imply. "Why not?" The blonde asked softly, olive depths wide.

Locke smiled gently. "Only the strongest of weapons can even hope to perform Soul Resonance with a Watcher, Miss Albarn. Because a Watcher's power is so potent, and their wavelength so incredibly massive, most weapons are crushed under the strain of attempting to Resonate with them. They give power faster than their weapon's soul can receive, let alone amplify and return it, and so the weapon generally passes out from exhaustion within a few seconds of the beginning of Resonance. In some rare cases, the weapon can even die from the strain. Only a deathscythe can match your power now, Miss Albarn, and no other weapon will do. Although, even a deathscythe will have a little trouble adjusting to the odd wavelength flow, which is why I suggested Mister Evans join you. Whichever weapon endures your training alongside you will be bound as yours for as long as you can perform as a meister, as this training is meant to unite a Watcher with her weapon so they can Resonate without harming each other. Your weapon must be chosen carefully…for this choice will be permanent."

The revelation was overwhelming, knocking the breath from Maka's lungs with it's intensity. The blonde almost felt as if she was a stranger in her own body, disturbingly unfamiliar with her own wavelength's power. For just this moment, the technician was sent reeling, and she found herself seeking comfort from the one person she trusted above all others. She turned to Soul. He was her rock, her anchor, and in this storm, she needed him more than ever. The scythemeister trusted him with her life, with her very _soul_, and she relied on the white-haired weapon more than anyone would ever realize. Those eerie but beautiful red eyes found her own olive depths, her gaze filled with uncertainty and trepidation, and he quickly realized just how desperately she needed him right now. Soul threaded their fingers together, his bloody orbs betraying his own shock at Locke's unexpected words. Nice to know she wasn't the only one. "Well…uh, _holy shit_?" He offered, and Maka felt lightheaded enough that she almost giggled at his coarse assessment of the situation.

"_Language_, Soul-kun."

The death god's voice shook the blonde from her reverie, and she turned to face the towering entity, taking comfort in the warm hand around her own. "But…the deathscythes are your weapons, Shinigami-sama." The woman protested, though privately euphoric at the thought of wielding Soul in battle once more. Her fingers practically tingled in anticipation, but she forced her eagerness to dissipate. She wouldn't accept…_couldn't_ accept, no matter how desperately she wished to.

The skull-faced god hummed in thought. "Quite true, quite true, but these are special circumstances, Maka-chan. If only a deathscythe can Resonate with you, then a deathscythe you shall have, and it has been amply proven that your wavelength is _highly_ compatible with Soul-kun's, yes? Who else would you choose?" His tone was light, but the blonde could hear the hidden edge under his words, his curiosity at her hesitance clear.

He didn't understand, of course. Having Soul all to herself was an alluring thought, the idea so enticing that a shiver raced up her spine in anticipation, but she couldn't allow that. This was no typical partnership, and there was no going back. If Maka accepted, then the albino would be bound to her and _only_ her, and that would prevent him from ever becoming Shinigami-sama's personal weapon, his Death Scythe. It would kill her to be the cause of that. The blonde was his partner, his best friend, and if surrendering her own desires would bring him happiness, then she would gladly make that sacrifice. The woman wasn't about to ruin his dream of becoming the shinigami's weapon…not if she could help it.

"Maka?" Her name was spoken quietly, lowly, and she turned to her weapon hesitantly, his soft voice commanding her attention. "If you don't want me anymore, all you gotta do is just say so." Soul murmured, dropping her hand as his sharp red glare looked anywhere but at her.

Her eyes widened at his anger. He thought she was hesitating because she didn't want him as a weapon anymore? Oh for shinigami's sake…could he _be_ any more **clueless**? "Of course I still want you, you idiot. That's not it!" His technician snapped, irritated that he had jumped to such a ridiculous conclusion. When had she ever given him a reason to doubt her devotion to him? Her waspish reply seemed to catch his attention in a very satisfactory manner, and Maka kept her own glare in place as the albino slowly returned his gaze to her. That impassive mask of his was back, and she felt the sudden urge to slap it off his face. Her palm itched with it.

"Then what the hell is your problem?" The scythe replied, sullen.

She was ready to kill him. The blonde was doing this for _him_, the ungrateful bastard, and he had the audacity to say something like that? The meister kept her composure, however, a commendable feat in itself, and she managed to refrain from beating the ever-living shit out of her weapon despite her anger. She was Maka fucking Albarn, after all, and despite the admittedly stressful and overwhelming circumstances she found herself in, the blonde refused to break. Sucking a sharp breath through her nose, the woman managed to calm herself somewhat before replying, though her words still left her as a sharp hiss. "Because, dumbass, —"

"_**Language**_, Maka-chan."

The even but stern voice broke through her anger, and the woman found herself apologizing sheepishly, having forgotten their audience. "Oh…sorry, Shinigami-sama." The technician said softly, embarrassed at losing her cool in front of the Death God. Her contrite expression disappeared, however, as she turned to find the deathscythe smirking at her slip-up, and the blonde scowled at him. "Because," she stressed, her voice growing gentle despite her anger, "it would destroy your dream. You've always wanted to be Shinigami-sama's personal weapon, right? How are you going to do that if I…if I _keep_ you?"

To Maka's surprise, and slight irritation, the man scoffed, quirking an annoyingly-haughty brow. "Is that what you've been freaking about? For fu—uh—for crap's sake, woman. That's a stupid thing to worry about." Soul replied, obviously exasperated as he shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his crimson eyes. Whether his frustration was directed at her or at the fact he couldn't cuss, though, she wasn't sure. "Besides, don't I get a say in this?" He asked, gracing the blonde with a rather pointed sideways glance.

Dumbfounded at his words, his meister stumbled over a reply. "I—well…of course you do, but—"

"I like being your weapon, Maka. I've missed it." The words were soft, but they shut the woman up faster than anything else could have, her mouth automatically snapping closed as he continued. "I'm already a deathscythe, and that's enough. I want to help you." Those strangely beautiful, exotic red eyes were for her alone, his gaze intense as he caught her olive depths and held them. In that moment, his meister forgot Shinigami-sama and Locke completely, lost in those crimson orbs that looked so much like blood. Soul leaned closer, close enough that she could smell the heavenly body wash he used, and a subtle shiver travelled down her spine. "Let me."

The woman flushed. Right now, the way he was looking at her, she'd _let him_ do plenty of things. Maka never fell for the charms of any man, but Soul seemed to know how to push all her buttons just right, and again she found herself questioning the painful thumping of her heart as she stared into his dark eyes. "Okay." She breathed, deciding that surrender was sweet after all when he grinned in response. The blonde couldn't help but smile in reply, undone by the raw thrill in his red orbs. "I've missed it too." She confessed, unable to hide the truth. Those long months of watching him leave without her was a pain she could never, never forget.

A short, delicate cough reminded Maka that they did indeed have an audience. "Well…I'm glad that's—ah—settled, then." Locke said lightly, an amused grin curving her pale lips.

The scythemeister blushed an impressive shade of red, the color dusting down her neck as she cleared her throat in embarrassment and increased the space between herself and her weapon. She could hear Soul chuckling softly to himself, no doubt amused by her chagrin, but she couldn't find it in herself to become angry at him. Not now…not when a pleasant warmth was still tingling down her spine. The blonde turned to find Shinigami-sama staring at the two of them, strangely solemn. "I trust this means you accept my offer, Maka-chan?" The death god asked graciously, and the woman nodded, a determination he was all too familiar with hardening her olive eyes.

"Yes, Shinigami-sama, I do." She declared, a familiar excitement coursing through her like an electric current. The technician found Soul staring at her, a feral grin accenting his frighteningly-sharp teeth, and her fingers tingled in anticipation. Oh yea, she had _definitely_ missed this.

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

Wind whistled about the scythe as his meister twirled him with an expert flourish, the feel of her capable, deft hands both welcome and familiar as she moved through her warm-up. Locke watched the two of them from a short distance away, her narrowed green eyes never leaving them as she leaned nonchalantly against Shibusen's outer wall. Her gaze followed Maka as she gracefully flowed between stances in preparation for her training. Soul could feel the blonde's excitement and eagerness through the constant hum of contact that danced between them whether they were resonating or not, and his reflection in the fatally-sharp blade grinned wickedly.

After exiting the Death Room, the strange warrior had announced their training would begin immediately, much to the scythe's irritation. It had, of course, pleased his meister to no end, but he was somewhat worried that she wasn't ready for such strenuous activity just yet. Maka still seemed slightly weak from her ordeal the night before, but neither she nor Locke would listen to his protests. That had grated the albino's nerves, but he couldn't stay mad at his technician; not when she was smiling euphorically as she swung his blade with careful, practiced movements.

And truthfully, the feel of Maka's gloved hands wrapped tightly about his weapon form brought a level of comfort and _rightness_ that Soul hadn't felt in a long, long time. Though he had been paired with some of the best meisters the world had to offer on his deathscythe missions, none of them could even hope to wield him with the same level of confidence and finesse that Maka did. After all, there was a reason _she_ was his meister, a reason that _she_ had made him into a deathscythe, and a reason that he found a flaw in every technician but _her_. The petite blonde was the only partner he would ever truly, fully accept, and no one would ever be closer to him than she. She had won him over—now had him wrapped around her little finger whether she knew it or not, and he was devoted without reservation. To know that she was once again his only technician, and he was her only weapon, brought a level of possessive satisfaction that could almost be considered indecent.

Leaving her alone for months at a time had nearly caused Soul to go insane, as he always had been ridiculously protective of his meister, and he worried for her constantly while he was gone on missions. It was an immense relief to know that was over, and more so, to know that he no longer had to worry about dumbass upstarts trying to take his technician away from him. Conner rose, unbidden, to the forefront of his mind, and the scythe realized that he still wanted to knock the Irish prick right on his ass for trying to steal Maka. She was _his_ meister, dammit. His, and no one else's.

The memory brought a quick, intense anger, and the sudden spark in his wavelength wasn't lost on the blonde. Though her fluid movements never ceased, her olive eyes darted towards his reflection in the sharp blade, curiosity plain as her eyes questioned him. The deathscythe quirked a brow in response, his blank expression meant to disarm her probing stare. Maka gave him a quick, disbelieving glance that clearly said _'Yea. Not buying it.'_, but she looked away and continued her exercises anyway. Grinning, Soul steeled his mind and forced himself to concentrate on the present, satisfied that his days of worrying about assholes like Conner were over and so fucking done. And that felt damned good. Instead, he concentrated on watching his meister move, his intense, eerie red eyes roving over her flowing form. Though he would never admit it aloud, there was something undeniably hot about the adept, instinctive motions. No other technician could wield him with such finesse, could move as smoothly as she did. There was an unearthly quality to her light steps, a strange, uncanny beauty within every instinctive movement, and it was more alluring than he would ever admit to her.

The blonde continued her effortless motions for another twenty or so minutes, then finally paused and turned to bow slightly to their audience of one. "I'm ready to begin, Locke-sama." She announced, and Soul's reflection grinned, anxious to see just how badly they could kick the green-eyed warrior's ass. Despite her capable appearance, the scythe had no doubt his slender tech could wipe the floor with the auburn-haired woman.

The older meister straightened from where she had been leaning against the wall of the school. "Very good, Miss Albarn. Your movements are as practiced and impressive as Shinigami-sama said they were. You wear the title of Weapon's Master well." The lithe woman approached them, her smooth steps filled with the graceful confidence of a panther, and stopped before the two, her emerald eyes calculating. The deathscythe sobered, realizing that, although he knew Maka could easily win their sparring match, it would be foolish to underestimate the strange, willowy technician. She carried herself like a fighter, and her steps were devoid of any sort of softness or coyness, merely no-nonsense and forceful. In a way, Locke reminded him of Maka herself. "You are disciplined, and your focus is unwavering. That is even better. I am certain you will master this training quickly."

The albino watched as his meister tilted her head slightly to the side, and through their connection, sensed confusion. "I do not mean to sound ungrateful, or to insult you, Locke-sama, but may I ask what sort of training you can provide that no other meister at Shibusen could?" Blinking, her weapon suddenly wondered why he hadn't thought to question that himself. After all, the academy was run by some of the best technicians in the world, and surely they knew every technique and skill there was to weapon-wielding and soul wavelengths. Just what did Locke know that they didn't?

The English meister grinned. "And just as sharp as Shinigami-sama said as well." The woman chuckled lightly, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword as she shifted into a relaxed posture. "The real training will come later, Miss Albarn, when I teach you how to control the new wavelength you will develop. There will be precious little combat training, to be honest, and we will focus more on reaching your full potential with your soul's power. I possess a particular history with Watchers that makes me the ideal candidate to instruct in you in this instance, and so here I am. However, right now, we must have a mock bout that I might assess your current ascension rate."

"Ascension rate?" Maka questioned, and her scythe instantly narrowed his red eyes, wondering what the hell was going on.

The auburn-haired warrior nodded. "All Transcendences differ. Some happen quickly, while others take months or even years to complete. I've seen grigori souls reach Watcher status in mere days, and others wait nearly a decade before they can access the full power of their new wavelenths. I've been trained to sense the amount of power running through transcending souls, but in order to correctly identify your highest level of power, I must read your soul when you are under the extreme duress of battle. I believe that a sparring match and a quick flare of Soul Resonance between you and Mister Evans should do the trick nicely."

Maka sucked in a sharp breath through her nose, and her weapon could feel her steeling herself against a flood of uncertainty that threatened to take her. But she mastered it, and soon he felt her body ease into a steady, even rhythm. "Understood." The blonde replied, and she shifted into a battle-ready stance, her face sliding into blank mask of cool readiness.

Her determination seemed to please elder meister that stood before them. Without a word, Locke pulled her heavy broadsword from it's sheath, her own lithe form easing into a balanced posture that left most of her weight on the balls of her feet and prepared for quick, instantaneous reactions. "Can you tell what fighting style she's going to use?" Soul asked, his familiar, low murmur bringing a smile to his tech's face.

"Not yet…her form is unfamiliar to me, but don't worry. I don't plan on losing." Maka replied softly, and the red-eyed scythe grinned widely, his sharp teeth lending a feral appearance to the expression.

"Good."

**o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

The two meisters were still for a few moments, eyeing one another silently as they sized each other up. Though it was only a sparring match, they both clearly wished to win, an identical competitive gleam in emerald and olive eyes. Maka shifted her hold on her demon weapon slightly, her gloved fingers tightening about her scythe as she planned her first moves. The blonde quickly put together a series of attacks in her mind, each open for split-second modifications should her opponent react in a way she didn't expect. She had grown exponentially over the years as a technician, and she had become quite a clever tactician. She never began a fight without a plan.

Strategy in place, Maka darted forward in the blink of an eye, olive eyes intense as she shifted her weight just the slightest bit, preparing her scythe for a full arc towards her opponent. With her Soul Perception, the blonde knew the broadsword in Locke's hand was in fact a demon weapon, the shimmering white soul matching the auburn-haired warrior's in every way. She couldn't tell much about the sword, but the meister knew this would not be an easy fight. There was something ageless in Locke's eyes, a fathomless weight that gave her an air of power. Still. Maka Albarn _won_ her fights, even if they were only practice bouts. With calculated steps, the blonde shifted her weight suddenly to the side, swinging her weapon with ruthless efficiency and aiming a painful blow at the warrior's arm.

Quickly, her opponent blocked the attack with her broadsword, a sharp, metallic clang echoing through the empty courtyard of Shibusen. It wasn't enough to stop the attack, however. Feet firmly planted, Maka used her momentum, and Soul's, to whirl in place, sliding into a crouch and attempting to force the other meister backwards. For a moment, it seemed to work as Locke staggered back two steps, but soon both scythe and technician were shocked to find the woman steadying and holding her ground, her feet sliding slightly wider apart as her grip tightened on her sword. "Soul Weight." The warrior muttered, and suddenly the broadsword pushed against the deathscythe with much greater force than before, and Maka's arms trembled against the heaviness of it. Gritting her teeth, the blonde pushed herself backward, disengaging their weapons and always keeping her mind one step ahead of her body to avoid making any stupid mistakes.

Locke swiftly followed her momentary retreat with quick steps, pressing her advantage. "Soul Weight!" She cried again, and this time it was Maka flinging her weapon forward in defense, blocking the incoming attack. The broadsword crashed against Soul's shaft, and the blonde felt a prick at the back of her mind as her red-eyed partner grunted from the thunderous impact. She didn't like that. For the moment, though, she was bewildered at the simple force behind each of Locke's attacks, fully aware that no sword should feel that heavy. Even her top-heavy scythe couldn't produce that much force, and Maka found herself wracking her brain for a countermove that wouldn't hurt Soul again.

The blonde technician let out a small breath, her fingers tightening about her weapon. Despite the unexpected weight of the warrior's broadsword, she was still Shibusen's Weapon Master, and that title was not given lightly. It had been painfully earned, and Maka was not so easy to defeat. Steadying her breathing, the scythemeister evened her wavelength and gathered her concentration, olive eyes snapping upward and colliding with her opponent's emerald orbs. She smiled. In a display of skill and agility that few could mirror, Maka dropped low and, while still holding the broadsword at bay, kicked outward with one long, strong leg, striking the auburn-haired warrior and pushing her ruthlessly off-balance.

The English technician's eyes widened as she was sent reeling backwards, but she was not caught off guard for long. The woman's back arched, and she turned her fall into a quick flip, landing on one palm and quickly vaulting back to her feet.

But Maka was already there.

The blonde pursued the other meister swiftly, Soul slicing through the air with quick, efficient swings, each perfectly measured and balanced to push Locke back with each attack. Maka quickly noticed the auburn-haired woman watching each of her movements closely, clearly memorizing the pattern of her movements in an attempt to find a suitable escape. The scythemeister wasn't going to allow her an escape, however. Suddenly, the olive-eyed technician again dropped low, this time sliding her leg along the ground and knocking the other woman's feet out from under her, scythe held carefully to the side as she did. With a small sound of frustration, Locke's back connected with the pavement, and she huffed.

Maka twirled her weapon once, prepared to pin her opponent and call an end to the match, but the other meister was not quite defeated just yet. With a soft grunt, Locke arched her back and kicked against the pavement, the momentum sending her into a hand-stand, and she quickly pushed off the ground, the agile movement putting several feet between she and the younger meister. She wasn't about to allow Maka the advantage again, however. The auburn-haired warrior jumped forward, raising her broadsword with the cry of 'Soul Weight', and the blonde quickly plotted her next moves.

Jumping to the side, Maka narrowly avoided the attack, countering with a large, arcing swing from her scythe. Locke was forced to retreat several steps in order to avoid the curved, lethal blade, but she ducked to the side and began her attacks anew.

For another twenty minutes, the two women fought, sweat beginning to bead on their brows as they exerted their bodies to their limits. At first, they had been rather evenly matched, but bit by bit, Maka began to tire. She belatedly realized that Soul was right, that she hadn't yet fully recovered, but she had no time to worry about that as the warrior pressed her back another few steps. By now the blonde was panting, her muscles burning as she blocked the heavy swings of the broadsword accompanied by the Soul Weight attack. Maka could feel her weapon's worry, the red-eyed scythe in her hands giving her everything he could to lend her more strength, but before long, her arms began to shake under Locke's onslaught. Finally, the scythemeister fell to one knee, scowling fiercely as she blocked yet another attack.

"Resonate now." Locke commanded, pressing her broadsword heavily against the blonde's stubborn resistance.

Those two, simple words seemed to reinvigorate Maka, and she felt a rush of anticipation dance down her spine. Glancing at her scythe's reflection, she grinned wearily and quirked a brow in question, Soul nodded in reply. A faint glow quickly surrounded them as the woman called for Resonance, her eyes sliding closed.

One benefit of performing countless Soul Resonances over the years was the intimacy their wavelengths shared. Despite the months it had been since their last Resonance, Soul and Maka came together without missing a beat. Their wavelengths reverberated comfortably the instant the blonde called for Resonance, orange sliding against blue in a sensuous near-caress that distracted both of them quite fully for a few precious seconds. With their souls so intimately intertwined, they could hide nothing from each other, and while Maka gasped softly and felt her heart thump quickly, she could also hear Soul take a ragged breath to calm his racing heart. She nearly giggled as she picked up on his thoughts, hearing a jumble of nonsensical sentences that mostly amounted to "Holy fucking shit." and "Fucking forgot how fucking good this felt, FUCK." Basically, a lot of fucking was involved, and the blonde found herself wanting to giggle again.

Until the pain set in.

Locke quickly stepped back and sheathed her sword as Maka gasped in shock and fell to her knees, groaning softly as she broke Resonance to protect her weapon from the agony that abruptly shot through her. It was not as intense as the misery she had felt last night, but the amount of pain coursing through her muscles was enough to steal her strength and breath for several moments.

Soul quickly transformed and knelt beside her, gingerly touching her shoulder with a gentle hand. "Maka!" He looked up as Locke quickly kneeled before them, emerald eyes sharp as she studied the shuddering meister.

"It won't take long." She murmured, dark gaze lifting to meet the frantic weapon's. "Her transcendence is definitely one of the faster ones I've seen. I'd say three…maybe four weeks at the most." At his heavy scowl, the warrior sighed gently, already aware of the source of his anger. "I know you don't like seeing her in pain, Mister Evans, but this must happen eventually. Her body will tear itself apart if she doesn't accept her Transcendence."

The red-eyed weapon clenched his teeth, free hand tightening into a fist as he shook with suppressed anger. He hated this. His meister sucked in a quick breath and was utterly still for a moment before she slowly raised her head and met his worried gaze. "I'm fine." She forced out, and he could tell she was fighting every second against the pain. Maka stood, somewhat shakily, and Soul felt his scowl deepen as she had to grab his shoulder to keep herself from falling. "Let's keep training." She said resolutely, but Soul wasn't having any of that.

"Oh, **HELL** no, Maka. Are you fucking crazy?" He asked, ignoring the withering glare she sent his way. Instead, he turned to the warrior standing placidly beside them. "Isn't there anything we can do to make it easier on her?" The blonde sighed in irritation, but he really didn't care. If she wasn't going to take care of her own ass, then he would.

The auburned-haired woman regarded the two of them silently for a moment, something weighing heavily in her ageless eyes. "I'm sorry, but no, Mr. Evans. Miss Albarn's body is changing so swiftly any medication will be burned from her blood minutes after administering it, and eventually even Kim's healing magic will be useless as the power within her grows. I'm afraid we must allow her soul to transcend naturally, despite the agony it may bring."

Well this was fucked up. He felt useless again, and it pissed him off. "Then what the hell are we supposed to do?" He gritted out, unaware that a small, gloved hand was nearing his skull.

"Maka…chop." The scythemeister hissed, her voice weak from the strain of ignoring her pain. The fist that cracked over his skull barely held any of her usual force, though he knew it would still leave a bump.

"What the hell was that for?" He snapped, a heated glare upon his features.

His meister looked grim. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here." Maka replied slowly, a slow shudder running down her body as she grimaced, clearly holding in a cry of pain. Her olive gaze focused on his sharp eyes. "If you won't let me practice with you, then I'm sure I can have a verbal lesson…right Locke-sama?" Here her attention focused on the other woman, and the deathscythe huffed in irritation. What she _needed_ was some fucking rest. Was that so hard for her to accept?

To his relief, however, the warrior shook her head with a little smile. "I'm sorry, but no, Miss Albarn. Your weapon is correct. Right now you need to rest and take it easy until your transcendence is complete. Once it is, we will begin your lessons." Here, Locke straightened, and her face became stern, her disciplined eyes hardening. "Until then, Mister Evans will look after you, and you are to listen to him. He has your best interests at heart, and I am confident that he will take excellent care of you. Now," Her emerald eyes locked onto crimson ones, "Take Miss Albarn home, and see to it that she gets plenty of rest, Mister Evans. I shall see you both once she is fully recovered." With that, the warrior turned, slipping the deathscythe a wink as she did, and strode back towards Shibusen's steps.

A slow, satisfied smirk slid across the albino's face as Maka stared after the older meister with an incredulous look on her face, unable to believe that Soul was in charge now, and he chuckled darkly. Oh yea, this shit was going to be _good_.

* * *

><p>I truly hope you all enjoyed this chapter. If so, I would adore a review. They honestly make my day.<p>

Fair winds and fair skies,

~Captain Jules~


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